What Are Heavy? Sea-Sand and Sorrow
by poetikat
Summary: Before the Malfoys and Weasleys were at the center of the largest feud in British Wizarding history, the two families had the oldest and most magically peculiar alliance since the 11th Century. Before the feud, the Weasleys were the stewards of their very magic. A tragedy in the spring of 1991 sees a renewed alliance, and their whole world changes. *see inside for warnings*
1. Chapter One: Unwanted Memories

_note: this story deals with some dark themes, the rape of a minor foremost among them. While never explicitly stated, it's glaringly obvious what the characters are discussing, and if this is a trigger, I strongly encourage readers to find a different story. On a more trivial note, this is going to *eventually* be a Draco/Hermione, Luna/Harry story, though romance won't be the focus, and (true to life) I fully intend to give some secondary characters a variety of different sexual orientations. Please, please don't leave a review telling me how wrong any of that is. Just close the tab and read something else._

* * *

"What on _Earth_?"

A trainee healer dropped her armful of parchment, scattering scrolls everywhere as she stared. Shocked, hissing whispers followed the two men down the corridor. Was the world ending? Was the elder under some dark spell? Was the younger blackmailing him?

Neither slowed from their frantic pace, nor turned to glare the whisperers into silence. There was only one thing on their minds, and, perhaps for the first time in their lives, they were in perfect accord.

The Welcome Witch behind the Inquiries desk gaped up at them unattractively when they finally came to a stop in front of her. "How can I assist you?" she asked hesitantly.

And Lucius Malfoy, white-blond hair in disarray, soot clinging to his expensive robes, and a look in his pale gray eyes that warned of pain for all who crossed him, said coldly, "You can tell me where my niece is."

"Luna Lovegood," Arthur Weasley supplied. "My wife brought her in a few hours ago."

It was almost amusing to Lucius the way the witch turned to Weasley to get out from under his glare. But he, too, was hard and unyielding, and the witch sunk down in her seat and looked back at Lucius. "This floor, past the Dai Llewellyn Ward, all the way to the back. That's where the Dorcas Wellbeloved Ward for Imperiled Witches and Young Children is."

An icy hand wrapped around his heart and squeezed. _Oh, Salazar, it was true._

"Steady, Malfoy," Weasley said calmly.

"If ever a man deserved to rot in Azkaban," Lucius snarled, and grudgingly subsided. He nodded sharply to the Welcome Witch and started off again, past the Inquiries desk and down another corridor, Weasley easily matching his long stride.

His sister-in-law met them at the entrance to the ward. "Lucius," Andromeda Tonks greeted him.

"Andromeda." He took some small measure of comfort from her professional mien. He might disapprove of her choice of husband, but all throughout school they'd had a solid friendship as fellow Slytherins, and later as fellow prefects, and her presence was preferable to a stranger's. He only wished she'd married better. Her safety during the war had caused Narcissa endless worry.

"You're the Healer-In-Charge?" Weasley asked.

"I did the necessary training in mind healing and emotional trauma," Andromeda said. "I'm one of the few who's kept up with the research since the war ended. And when the hospital administrators discovered that I'm sister-in-law to the wizard who donated an absurd amount of money to fund this ward, I received an early promotion."

Weasley made a face. "Galleons talk."

"How is she?" Lucius asked, dismissing Weasley's comment.

"She's very quiet," Andromeda said. "She's withdrawn, frightened – very emotionally fragile. I haven't seen any sign of tears. They may come later, they may not – she likely did quite a bit of crying early on, when all this started. But for all that, she's quite lucid, and if you wish to go in and speak with her, you may."

"She will not react badly to a strange man entering her private space?" Lucius pressed. "She is my blood, but the first and last time I laid eyes on her was at Aurélie's funeral. With all that's happened since, I'd be shocked if she remembered me at all."

"She knows you're coming," Andromeda reassured him. "She also knows what you look like. I would just make one suggestion, however."

"Tell me."

"Your hair." Andromeda gestured to her own light brown plait, hanging smooth and sleek to the center of her back. "At the moment, it looks remarkably like _his_. Pull it away from your face. If you intend to keep her –"

"I do."

"Then you should consider a haircut," she said.

"For my sister's daughter, under circumstances such as these, I would shave myself bald," Lucius said. Weasley smiled faintly at the idea.

"What, like Shacklebolt, the Auror? You haven't the head for it."

"But wouldn't it be a sight?" Lucius asked with the ghost of a smile. He drew his wand – his late father's wand, only two months ago – and silently conjured a black silk ribbon. "Not a word, Weasley," he said forbiddingly as he flicked his wand at his hair, then at the ribbon, which flew from his fingertips to pull his hair back in a tidy, low ponytail.

"That will do," Andromeda told him. "Remember, she's in a very fragile state. Moderate your volume, mind your tone, and no matter how angry you are – and I'm sure you're as furious as I am – keep it off your face and out of your body language. She may misinterpret it as anger toward her."

"I know," Lucius said. "Believe me, I know." He took a moment to tamp his anger down and gestured for her to precede him.

All noises of the hospital cut off abruptly as soon as they entered the ward. Soothing ambient sounds of nature filled the air instead: faint birdsong, the gentle rippling of a brook, a breeze rustling the leaves of phantom trees. The quality of light was different as well; it was softer, warmer, more natural. The whole effect was clearly designed to put patients entirely at ease, and considering the sort of patients who ended up in this particular hospital ward, it was entirely necessary.

"It's good to see my money hasn't been wasted," Lucius observed quietly.

"It was a thoroughly ludicrous amount of money, Lucius," Andromeda replied, equally quiet. "I think at some point the hospital accountant just started making up things to do to upgrade the ward."

"Better that it be used here than that it line some ineffectual politician's pockets," he said.

She shook her head at him, but didn't disagree. "She's just behind this curtain," she murmured. "If you'll allow me…"

He let her banish the soot from his clothes with a precise flick of her wand. "My thanks."

"Luna?" Andromeda called out softly. "Luna, it's Healer Tonks. Your Uncle Lucius is here to see you. May we come around?"

For a few seconds, there was no answer. Then, quietly, a girl's voice answered. "You may."

The first thought Lucius had when he saw his niece sitting there, so small and still in the hospital bed, was that his younger sister must have had a childhood accident with a Time Turner and neglected to tell him. They looked that much alike. The thought fled, however, when he saw the look on her face. When Aurélie was ten, she had never looked that frightened, that ill – she'd never looked like she had no innocence left. Deep, bruise-purple smudges beneath her gray eyes attested to lack of sleep; hollow cheeks spoke of a lack of either appetite or food. She was drawn and pale, with such a wary, watchful look in her eyes that it was hard to believe that this was the same girl he'd seen not even six and a half months ago at the funeral.

"You look different than I thought you would," Luna said. "You look older than the pictures Mummy had of you."

Her little fingers worried at the blanket spread across her lap, pulling off little pilled bits of wool and casting them aside as she watched him slowly cross to take the seat by her bed, close enough to hear a whisper, but far enough away to let her feel secure.

"The passage of time does that to everyone, I'm afraid," he said. "We saw each other several months ago, though, didn't we? Do you remember?"

"You laid a posy of harebells and marigolds on Mummy's grave," Luna recalled. "For grief." She looked at him with slightly less suspicion and added, "I liked them best. All the rest were white."

"I'm pleased to hear it," Lucius said.

She gave a stray pill a hard yank and asked, "Am I supposed to live with you now?"

"When Healer Tonks clears you to leave," Lucius said. The wary look returned to her eyes. "My wife, your Aunt Narcissa, is quite eager to meet you. As is your cousin, Draco. He's only a year older than you – he'll be attending Hogwarts this autumn."

He hadn't even realized how tense she was until she relaxed at his indirect assurance that she wouldn't be stuck, once again, alone and at the mercy of a grown wizard. "And…and you won't…."

"No!" he said vehemently. She drew back slightly, huddling into her pillows, and he took a deep, calming breath before continuing more evenly, "No, Luna. Never. You need never fear that I, or anyone else, will ever interfere with you in such a way ever again."

"That's what he would say, every morning," Luna said. "Then he drowned his guilt in Firewhisky, and by sunset he'd forgotten all about his promises."

Lucius exchanged a swift glance with Andromeda. _That miserable, pathetic, wretched excuse of a wizard had known what he was doing._

"Well, I am no Gryffindor, and my sense of honor will not be injured if you demand a binding oath from me before I take you home," Lucius said. "Healer Tonks can help you come up with one, if you like."

"Thank you," Luna said quietly. "I'd like that."

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss?" he asked. "Perhaps there's something you'd like to have brought to the manor to make it feel more familiar."

Luna contemplated the pile of woolly pills on her lap for a while, and looked hesitantly up at Lucius. "My books – Mummy left me her poetry books. She told me they were a part of my legacy. May I have them?"

He gave her a genuine smile. "Of course. After all, what is a Malfoy without poetry?"

"At a loss for words," Luna said, the barest of smiles crossing her face for just a moment as she completed the exchange. Lucius had a feeling that it was one that she and Aurélie had had quite a lot while his sister had been alive.

Her smile fled faster than it had appeared, and she looked back down at her blanket, twisting her fingers in its folds and pressing her lips together in a thin, bloodless line. Lucius waited for a minute in silence, then spoke up carefully, making certain not to startle her.

"Luna, I'm going to let you rest now. I'll be back tomorrow – I'll bring your Aunt Narcissa." He stopped for her nod of acknowledgment, and continued. "I'm going to stand up slowly and walk around the foot of the bed to the other side of the curtain, alright? Healer Tonks will accompany me." Another nod. "Try to sleep, Luna. I'll see you soon."

He followed his words to the letter, keeping himself in her line of sight the entire time. It was only when he reached the curtain that she spoke up again.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For coming."

He met her eyes and finally saw what he'd feared was lost forever: hope. "You are my _blood_," he told her seriously. "I will always come for you. I only wish we had known sooner."

Luna shrugged, and added cautiously, "If you could – please thank the Weasleys for me as well."

"I will," Lucius said. It was more than an empty promise. The Weasleys saving his blood relative had set in motion something that would require a great deal more than simply conveying her thanks.

Andromeda joined him on the other side of the curtain, and he shook his head at her and drew her farther away when she made to speak. "_Muffliato_," he muttered, waving his wand in Luna's direction when he deemed them a safe distance away.

"That's not one I've seen before," she observed.

"One of Severus's inventions," Lucius said. "It's a mid-level charm against eavesdropping. I didn't want her to inadvertently hear what you had to tell me and become distressed."

"When you said you knew how to behave around a child who'd been…traumatized…in such a fashion, I didn't realize you were speaking from a place of experience," Andromeda said, her words measured and carefully neutral.

Lucius glared at her. "If you have an accusation to make, Andromeda, then _say_ it, and stop tiptoeing around it."

"No, not you," she said, frowning thoughtfully. "If you had done something like what Lovegood did to that poor girl, my sister would've either killed or castrated you."

His lips twitched in an involuntary smile. "Very true."

"I imagine you must have seen terrible things during the war," Andromeda said. Her voice took on a hint of disgust. "I'm surprised you remember any of it, Lucius, having been lost in the fog of the Imperius Curse for so long."

"Stop," Lucius said, holding up his hand. "Just stop. We both know that's a lie, but the truth is far more complex, and isn't something I can simply tell you without a guarantee of privacy. Let's just move on. I brought the emergency order of protection from the Wizengamot Administration Services. It makes me her official legal guardian until all parental and custodial rights are stripped from _him_ at his trial, whenever that may be. I don't – for Salazar's sake, don't show me the photographs you had to take for evidence. Just show me the parchments, tell me what I need to know, and tell me what I need to authorize."

"The order first," she said. He produced it from within his pocket and handed it over, and she waved her wand over Amelia Bones' signature. It glowed a soft white under her detection spell, and she handed it back, satisfied. "Very well."

She, in turn, took a tightly-rolled length of parchment from her robes and gave it to him. "These are the results of the medical scans I took when she was admitted," she said as he untied the lime green ribbon holding the scroll closed.

_Lovegood, Luna Erato_, it read along the top. _Admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on 27 April, 1991. Date of Birth 24 April, 1981. Female._

His eyes dropped to the second line, and the world went gray. _Dear Salazar, no._

He read slowly, as if in a fog, the words swimming before his eyes as bile, thick and sour, crept up his throat. As a student, and later when he started to work at the Ministry, he'd been admired for his exceptional ability to remember everything he read. Rarely had it seemed such a curse. He'd never forget these words.

Eventually, he realized Andromeda was speaking. Her voice sounded far away and muffled to his ears. "–Potions regimen to clear any traces of him from her system will help stabilize her juvenile magic. There's a borderline dark spell that needs parental approval that we can do, that can restore her physically –"

"You have my approval," he said distantly, unable to tear his eyes from the damning parchment in his hand. "But only if she wishes it done."

"And I've started the paperwork to get her a license to learn Occlumency," Andromeda continued. "It's my professional opinion that she will benefit more from Occlumency and mind healing than from anything we do to help her physically."

"Narcissa is licensed with the Ministry," Lucius said. "She can teach her."

"Not you?"

"The last thing that child needs is another man forcing himself somewhere he's not welcome," he said. He thrust the parchment back into Andromeda's hands and stepped back. "Andromeda. Thank you for everything. I'll see you again tomorrow."

He tried and failed to smile, and pushed his way out the door and back into the hospital proper before she could tender her own farewell. Weasley halted his worried pacing as Lucius brushed past him, rushing back up the corridor to let himself in through a door marked with a brass plaque that read "Wizards". He flung open the nearest stall door, fell to his knees, and vomited.

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, violently ill and shuddering under the weight of unwanted knowledge and horrific memories. It seemed like an age passed before his stomach had nothing left to give.

A warm hand rubbed his back, and he slid his gaze sideways to see Arthur Weasley crammed into the stall beside him, holding back the hair that had escaped from its conjured ribbon.

"That bad, was it?" Weasley asked quietly.

Lucius Vanished the contents of the toilet and sat carelessly on the cold floor, leaning heavily on the far wall of the stall. "What sort of father – _fuck._" His voice was hoarse. He didn't bother to pull himself together. Weasley had already seen him at his lowest. There was no further he could fall in dignity today, and after what the man had done for his family, he was willing to extend a bit of trust.

"I'll get you some water," Weasley said, climbing to his feet.

"Lock the door while you're up," Lucius said. "Please."

Weasley didn't acknowledge his instruction, but a muffled "_Colloportus_!" and a slight squelching sound let him know he'd been obeyed. He returned with a plain clay goblet filled to the brim with water, and handed it carefully over to Lucius before taking a seat on the opposite side of the small stall. Lucius washed his mouth out with the first mouthful, drank the rest, and sighed deeply.

"_Hell_," he said, with great feeling. Weasley raised his eyebrows at him, and Lucius snorted humorlessly. "You know, Arthur, Narcissa found me like this more than once in the early years of our marriage."

"What, in the toilet? Puking?" Weasley asked skeptically.

"I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like for her," Lucius said. "Eighteen years old, just married, and she comes upstairs to find her brand new husband covered in filth and someone else's blood, half out of his mind with guilt and quite literally sick to his stomach with what he'd just seen." He toasted Weasley mockingly with the empty goblet. "Here's to Absalom Travers, a shining example of a pure-blood. May he die in Azkaban, the sick bastard."

Weasley's hand crept toward his pocket, where Lucius assumed he kept his wand. "There's no statute of limitations on war crimes, Malfoy, so if I were you, I'd take advantage of the fact that I've obviously taken leave of my senses and stop telling me things that could be considered a confession. I do work for the DMLE, if you recall."

"Ah, but I've already been tried and found not guilty by reason of the Imperius Curse, and by reason of ostentatiously large donations to certain politicians' campaign coffers," Lucius said. "And you're making the assumption that this isn't already known by a select few people within the DMLE and on the Wizengamot."

In his later years, Abraxas Malfoy had always claimed that the Weasleys were a bunch of dullards, and that they always had been, a line of imbeciles stretching back to even before their ancestors had started feuding three centuries ago. Lucius saw no evidence of this in Weasley's furrowed brow as he was studied with narrowed, thoughtful eyes.

"Dear Merlin," Weasley whispered, eyes widening. "You turned on him. _You_."

"This room is not nearly secure enough for such conversation," Lucius said, straightening abruptly.

Weasley nodded in comprehension. "Where would you like to continue it?" he asked. "Because we are going to finish this talk."

"We have more to discuss than that," Lucius said. His words were heavy with the weight of an old feud and an even older alliance.

"We do," Weasley agreed, "But what we decide to do about it will depend on what you have to say."

"To the manor, then, if you trust that I won't kill you," Lucius said, standing. He extended a hand to Weasley and helped him up. "I think we could both use a drink for this particular conversation."


	2. Chapter Two: Cessation of Hostilities

Draco had rushed him as soon as he'd returned to the manor, sparing only a curious, insolent glance at their shabby guest before demanding answers as to where he'd disappeared so suddenly. Lucius put him off with promises to talk later, thanking Narcissa with his eyes as she drew their son away and let him escort Weasley to his study in peace.

"Spirited lad," Weasley said mildly as Lucius shut the door behind them and engaged the silencing charms spelled into the doorframe.

"Our one and only," Lucius said, smiling slightly. "Perhaps we indulge him a bit too much, but that is a common failing of parents, I suppose, when they can only have one child, and have altogether too much wealth at their disposal. Whiskey?"

"Yes, please." Weasley took the proffered glass with its two fingers of whiskey and sank into one of the soft leather armchairs. There were two, set at a pleasantly wide angle facing both one another and Lucius' immense mahogany desk.

Lucius took the other. The Weasleys had never been their equals in society, especially not since his ancestor, Brutus Malfoy, had rather vindictively impoverished the family at the start of the feud, but they held a unique place in the Malfoy family history. It was galling – debasing, even, to ask anyone for help, and if he were the only one involved, he wouldn't. However, he had a wife and son who meant the world to him, and now, apparently, he had custody of his niece. His entire family depended on him convincing Weasley to say yes, and if he was going to resolve this to his satisfaction, he'd need to treat Weasley as a peer. Speaking to him from behind his behemoth of a desk wouldn't be the best way to start.

"Luna asked me to convey her thanks," he told Weasley.

"I did what any father would do – _should_ do," Weasley amended. "I can't believe…."

"There's always been something wrong with him," Lucius said disgustedly. "It's why Aurélie was estranged from the family. Father couldn't forgive her for marrying him. He might be a pure-blood, but there's nothing respectable about him. It would seem that he went completely around the bend with her death."

"So it's long term care in St. Mungo's secure wing for him, then?"

"Oh, no," Lucius said. He sipped from his glass slowly, savoring the soft, creeping burn and the smooth finish of his whiskey. "I fully intend to see him stand trial for what he did. There'll be no cushy bed and nursing staff at the hospital for that wretch. He'll have a stone cell and Dementors for company before Hogwarts lets out for the summer if I have my way – and I always have my way."

Weasley very carefully didn't react at the insinuation of future bribery of officers of the law. "Why don't you finish telling me about your defection from You-Know-Who?"

"Very well." Lucius contemplated the inside of his glass. "My father wasn't a Death Eater, you know," he began. "He was too old, for one. But he thought it was a noble cause. He was the Dark Lord's principal financial backer during the war. And, as the Dark Lord promised to rid Britain of the 'plague of Mudbloods' and put a halt to the intermarriage of pure-bloods and Muggle-borns, or even, Merlin forbid, Muggles themselves, he insisted I join the cause. After all, I was his heir, and therefore his to invest. I didn't see anything wrong with this, of course, or with killing Muggles to accomplish these lofty goals. My family is historically quite Dark, and I'm a traditionalist – a supremacist, in those days. I thought it glorious. Until I had to go clean up after one of Travers' little Samhain rituals."

Lucius looked up from his glass and over to Weasley. The man was staring back at him, half-repulsed, half-fascinated. "Travers' predilections went unnoticed in our world because he values purity even above his own sick desires," Lucius said. "I knew he was sadistic; I'd seen evidence of that on previous occasions. It was disgusting, to say the least. He and Dolohov were two birds of a feather. But Travers –" Lucius shuddered.

"I remember his trial," Weasley recalled. "He was sentenced to Azkaban for life for the rapes and murders of seven Muggle girls."

"I was nineteen, a year and some months out of Hogwarts, and the youngest of the Dark Lord's followers," Lucius said. "I wasn't the head of my family, nor in any real position of power. I was often given the 'scut work'. More often than not, this involved making gruesome scenes disappear if the Dark Lord didn't wish for them to be found. Travers' ritual was one of them." The images of that hellish ritual circle pressed in on him, and he closed his eyes. "None of them had reached puberty, and the youngest looked just like my sister."

"Dear Merlin!"

"I was supposed to Vanish the evidence," Lucius said. "Had they been adults, had there been no evidence of violation, I'm sure I would have. I didn't. I buried them in the nearest church graveyard under a Notice-Me-Not charm. Three weeks later, I hexed my father's morning coffee before his meeting with the school governors to give him a migraine and took his place. I brought no evidence with me; it was far too dangerous for that. I didn't say a word. I'd heard a rumor, you understand, and I realized that if it were true, I'd found the perfect way to inform Dumbledore about Travers."

"What's that?" Weasley asked.

"He's a Legilimens," Lucius said. "When he arrived for the latter half of the meeting, as soon as he made eye contact, I pushed it all at him: what had happened, who had done it, where the children were buried." Lucius remembered how Dumbledore's eyes had widened, then narrowed, just the barest fraction of an inch, before he'd nodded and welcomed him to the Board of Governors as if nothing had happened. "That was the first meeting."

"That's right," Weasley said slowly. "Everyone wondered why you'd taken over for old Abraxas on the Board at such a young age."

"The Dark Lord was rather pleased with the idea of having one of his Death Eaters shaping the direction Hogwarts took," Lucius said. "He told my father to step aside and let me take the reins. This suited me perfectly, of course, although after Travers was arrested and evidence was produced, we needed to be much more careful."

Lucius set his non-wand hand down flat on his knee, and he and Weasley both watched as his pinky and ring fingers twitched minutely. "Nerve damage from the Cruciatus Curse," Lucius explained briefly. "I was lucky it wasn't worse. He was furious I'd been so careless. Dumbledore put a stop to me being so immediately involved in procuring evidence. At the time, I was his only source of information, you see. We decided that, instead, I'd compile dossiers on the rest of the Death Eaters as I slowly worked my way into a position in his Inner Circle. By the time the war was over, any who'd been arrested had enough evidence against them to be sentenced for several lifetimes, if not the Kiss. Though they don't know it, those who escaped Azkaban have the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, ready to fall should they stop toeing the line."

"And what about you?" Weasley asked.

"A closed hearing with Dumbledore, Bagnold, Moody, and Crouch," Lucius said, "The latter three sworn to secrecy. Privately, I was pardoned. Then, publically, they convened a full trial, right after I made a generous donation to Bagnold's reelection campaign fund, where it was disclosed that I'd been under the Imperius Curse since leaving Hogwarts."

"Convenient for you," Weasley noted.

"Hardly," Lucius said sourly. "Dumbledore's convinced the Dark Lord is still out there. He publically vouched for his other spy so that it will look like he trusts him, but on the off-chance that such confidence inspires distrust in the Dark Lord's followers still walking around free today, I needed to look like I bought my way out of prison. They still believe I'm faithful to the cause."

"So if he's really still out there," Weasley said, "And if he does come back –"

"Then at least one of us will remain uncompromised," Lucius finished. "And as you're now the _only_ person besides Narcissa who wasn't at the closed hearing who knows of this, Arthur, I'm going to need an oath of secrecy from you as well. Too much depends on this staying secret."

Wordlessly, Weasley drew his wand. He sat in silence for a minute, just looking at it, then raised it, tip to the ceiling. "I, Arthur Weasley, swear on my position as head of the Weasley family to keep secret Lucius Malfoy's role in undermining the terrorist organization known as the Death Eaters from anyone with whom I do not have permission to discuss such matters. This permission can only be given by Lucius Malfoy or Albus Dumbledore." A bright flash of light sealed his vow.

"Neatly worded," Lucius said with grudging admiration.

"My mother was a Black," Weasley said. "I don't like politics, but I know my way around them well enough."

Lucius smirked. "Clearly."

They slowly finished their whiskey, an odd, not quite hostile, yet not quite comfortable air of expectant silence surrounding them. Finally, Lucius set aside his empty glass and turned to his guest. "You know why I brought you here."

Weasley frowned heavily. "The feud should have been called off long ago, and you know it, Lucius."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, surprised. "Did your father tell you nothing? We _couldn't_. The terms were clear. A Weasley's negligence during the Civil War led to the death of Brutus Malfoy's second son. He wrote it into the terms of the feud that only a Weasley _saving_ the life of a Malfoy would erase the blood debt and allow the feud to end. By Salazar's serpent, Arthur, we've been unable to do anything but wait and see if it ever happened. There was no way to help it along, either, as intent is everything, and it would have to be genuine on both sides for it to work."

"So when Ginny told me she was worried about Luna, because she hadn't seen her since her mother's funeral," Weasley said, "And I went to the Rookery and found her –"

"You saved my sister's daughter," Lucius said. "A Malfoy. The debt is paid, and we can end this."

"I'm all in favor of calling it off," Weasley said. "It's the fact that ending the feud means allying our families again that has me hesitating. You said it yourself. Your family is historically Dark, and the last several heads of your family have been _horribly_ Dark. Blood purists of the highest order. I don't know that I want to tie my family's future to that. Especially when it was a druid's curse that brought us together in the first place."

Lucius suddenly wished he'd thought to bring the bottle with him before he'd sat down. "And what do you think it's going to look like to the Dark Lord's followers when the Malfoy family suddenly allies with a family known throughout Wizarding Britain as the worst sort of blood traitors since Albus Dumbledore? That's _your_ family's reputation, or it has been for the last century. Not all of them will be appeased when I tell them it would dishonor my family name not to renew our ties after what you did for us."

"Then why do it?" Weasley asked. "There has to be some middle ground where we can just call it settled and walk away from each other."

"Unfortunately, no," Lucius said. "And even if there was, I'd want the alliance. We need it."

"Right," Weasley said, clearly taken aback by that. "That makes no sense. I'm going to need a better explanation."

"And you'll get one. Tibby!" Lucius called.

A loud _pop_ heralded the arrival of one of the family elves. "Master summoned Tibby?" she squeaked, curtseying. Lucius was pleased to see that her pillowcase was clean and neatly pressed, unlike that strange kitchen elf his father had purchased at an estate sale of one of the pure-blood homes wiped out by the Dark Lord during the war.

"I require three books from the family library," he said. "The first is Armand Malfoy's chronicle. The second is Brutus Malfoy's chronicle. The third is the journal detailing the effects of the curse since Brutus Malfoy instigated the feud."

Tibby nodded vigorously and popped away.

"What did your father tell you about it?" Lucius asked.

"Not much," Weasley admitted. "My older brother, Bilius, was originally his heir, but they died within months of each other two years ago. I know that at some point very early on, when Armand Malfoy and Caedmon Weasley were the heads of our families, a druid cursed the Weasleys into servitude to the Malfoys, and that, despite the Dark nature of your family, they were fairly neutral politically until Brutus Malfoy started up that feud and broke ties with the Weasleys."

Lucius laughed. "Servitude? Your bias is showing, Arthur, and I'm a former Slytherin – I know bias when I hear it."

"How would you put it, then?" Weasley asked.

Tibby popped back in and wordlessly handed Lucius the requested books, and he dismissed her with a sharp nod. "It's in Armand Malfoy's chronicle," Lucius said, passing over the ancient, delicate book in question. "He was taking account of his new lands, gifted to him by William the First, when he was accosted by a roving band of druids. Your ancestor happened upon the scene and took my ancestor's side in the duel. The one druid who survived said, according to my ancestor, that if Caedmon was so fond of the Norman invaders, then he and his family's fortunes would be forever tied to them, and that the Malfoys were their responsibility. Then she cast that curse and Disapparated before she could be stopped."

"And that's when the Weasleys became the Malfoys' servants," Weasley said, gently opening the book. He turned the pages carefully, skimming the archaic Middle English words with keen eyes for the relevant entry.

"Stewards," Lucius corrected him sharply. "Trusted advisors and confidants. Moral compasses, more often than not. Armand Malfoy and Caedmon Weasley's families are listed together in the Domesday Book. That is our history, Arthur."

"You can't tell me our families got along," Weasley said skeptically.

"No, I rather think they didn't," Lucius said. "Half my predecessors before Brutus Malfoy all wrote of fighting like crups and kneazles with whomever was the head of the Weasley family at the time when it came to their personal lives. Lucius Malfoy the First, incidentally, got along splendidly with your ancestor Dermot Weasley."

Weasley had finally found the right page, and, after reading it slowly, he closed the book and handed it back, a wary question lurking in his eyes. "Lucius…."

"Yes?"

"What exactly does that mean, that the Malfoys are the Weasleys' responsibility?"

"You know that Dark Magic does not make one evil, correct?" Lucius asked. Weasley nodded reluctantly. "You are aware that overuse, and abuse, of the Dark Arts _can_, however, corrupt one's mind? Take away the ability to feel compassion? To judge right from wrong?"

"That's covered in NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts," Weasley said. "It's why traditionally Dark families almost always use anchors of light or neutral magic before they get too old, unless they're crazy, or don't care about the risks. Stonehenge is a popular one, I hear."

"Stonehenge is the reason my family settled in Wiltshire," Lucius said. "Unfortunately, Armand never had the chance to tie the family magic to the standing stones. He ended up with an entirely different _living_ anchor, thanks to a bunch of druids and the unexpected assistance of a complete stranger."

"No," Weasley said, looking faintly sick.

"Now you see what an act of supreme idiocy it was for my many-greats grandfather to sever ties with your family," Lucius said darkly. "We have no anchor. It's a minor blessing that it only affects the head of the family, but even that is a nightmare in itself – to see the inevitable coming, and to know that no matter what we do, there's nothing that can stop the fate that lies ahead. My grandfather tried to stave it off, but by the first full year as head of the family he was apparently resigned to it, and by the time my father came of age, he simply didn't care. When my father became head, he decided to get it over with quickly, spending hours in the dueling salle casting the darkest curses he could think of every day for a month. It worked quite well. My father was by all accounts a psychopath."

"And you?" Weasley ventured to ask.

Lucius tightened his grip on the books in his lap. "I've been the head of the family for just under two months, and I haven't cast anything darker than a jinx for fear of speeding up the curse. I put too much time and too much effort into making myself a better person to let go without a fight. And even with that, it's not working. I can feel myself getting worse. I've started to have the same rages that my grandfather did. It's eating away at my mind. Occlumency helps, but not nearly enough to make a significant difference. Another year of this and all the work, all the planning that we did will be utterly useless should the Dark Lord return. I would go back to him _willingly_," he stressed. "I would go back willingly, and I would not care."

"Merlin, Lucius," Weasley said. "Why didn't your family find a new anchor?"

Lucius scoffed. "We tried. Apparently the curse bound our families together for good. By the second generation, it was in our blood. We can't use another anchor." He shook his head at Weasley's cautious, worried look. "You say the Weasleys were the Malfoys' servants? We are utterly vulnerable to you. Your family is responsible for our continued sanity. _You_ hold _my_ sanity in your hands. We can finally end this miserable feud, and you're hesitating. For the love of the Founders, _don't make me beg_."

Weasley blinked, and shook his head slowly. "Molly is going to kill me for not discussing this without her first," he muttered to himself. "What do we need to do?"

Lucius handed him Brutus Malfoy's chronicle and stood to fetch a particular quill from his desk. Weasley lifted the cover, and the pages fell open to an entry that dozens of Malfoys in the centuries following had read and fumed over.

"There's a copy of that under lock and key at the Ministry that will automatically update once we sign it," Lucius said, returning with a long, thin, black quill with an extremely sharp tip. "We'll also need to make a stop at Hogwarts and have the Headmaster get the Sorting Hat to release the lock on the Houses."

"'_On this day, in the year of Our Lord Sixteen Forty-Three, I, Brutus Malfoy, do hereby declare all bonds of friendship, business, and family between the Malfoy family and the Weasley family broken_,'" Weasley read aloud. "'_Until such time as their blood debt is repaid, no shelter shall they have from our home, no food shall they have from our table, no kind words shall they have from our kin. They shall be dead to us._' Wow."

"A grieving parent is often the most dangerous enemy one might ever face," Lucius said. "Cassius Malfoy wasn't yet of Hogwarts age when he was killed. Personally, I'd have stopped at a large wergild and the right to vote your seat in the Wizengamot for the next century, but not even Brutus' most flattering biographers would accuse him of being possessed of great foresight."

"This – is this written in blood?" Weasley asked.

"It's a blood feud from the seventeenth century, Arthur," Lucius said dryly. "Of course it's written in blood. Hand it back over. I have to bleed all over it to cancel it."

Weasley passed the chronicle back, and Lucius took up the Blood Quill. He thought a moment, then set the tip of the quill to the frail parchment that was spelled to hold an Unbreakable Vow.

_28 April, 1991_

_On this day, I, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, head of the Malfoy family, declare the blood debt repaid in full by Arthur _–

"What's your middle name?"

"Oh. Percival."

_Percival Weasley, head of the Weasley family. His swift and selfless actions saved the life of the child Luna Erato Lovegood, daughter of Aurélie Lovegood née Malfoy. We, the Malfoys, recognize the Weasleys as our friends, stewards, associates, and allies. From this day forth, any Weasley can find shelter in our home, food at our table, and kind words from our kin._

He read it over, nodded in satisfaction, and signed his name, ignoring the searing pain along the back of his hand as he did. "Your turn."

"Should I even ask why you have a proscribed Dark artifact in your desk?" Weasley asked, accepting both quill and book with a resigned look.

"We were allowed to keep it in the event that the feud ever ended," Lucius explained. "I'll have to turn it in to be destroyed once you sign."

He did with barely a wince. "Anything else?"

"No, thankfully everything should settle naturally," Lucius said. Indeed, he could already feel the wards shifting to welcome Weasley as their blood dried on the parchment. "It'll be easier once your family has moved back, of course."

This time, Weasley really did wince. "I have no idea how I'm going to explain all this to Molly."

"Take the books I had my elf fetch," Lucius said, handing over Armand Malfoy's chronicle and the journal explaining the effects the feud had on the curse. "They might be of some help. And you have my permission to tell her about what I did during the war, so long as she is willing to be sworn to secrecy as well."

"That's a bit of a relief," Weasley said. "Keeping secrets from your wife is a dangerous road to walk – especially when you're married to a Prewett. May I use your Floo?"

"Of course you may. I'd suggest returning sometime tomorrow afternoon to get the Hogwarts visit over with." They both stood, Weasley tucking the books away into one of his pockets, and Lucius, acting on a compulsion, reached out and gripped his arm firmly.

Weasley looked at him warily. "Yes?"

"Arthur," he said intently. "_Thank you_."

His wary look softened into a kind smile, the sort Lucius imagined he often gave his friends. "'If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; if I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain, or help one fainting robin unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.'"

Lucius felt his mouth twist up in a wry smile. "How terribly noble of you. I must admit, if you're as fond of poetry as my family is, I think we'll manage to get along well enough."

"We haven't hexed each other yet," Weasley agreed.

"A very good sign," Lucius said.

He walked Weasley out to the front hall where the fireplace crackled merrily, throwing up bright flames and little heat. "The wards recognize your family's magic again," he said. "Come and go as you please. I expect we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other in the days to come."

Weasley grimaced at the reminder of the tragedy that had brought them here. "Should I come around three? Would that give you enough time at St. Mungo's?"

"Actually, let's meet at Hogwarts instead," Lucius said. "It will save us an extra trip. But yes, three works well for me."

Weasley nodded and held out his hand. "Lucius," he said.

Lucius grasped it without hesitation and inhaled sharply, staggering a bit as magic flooded him everywhere their hands touched. _Salazar!_ It was like shaking hands with Arthur Weasley and all his ancestors, stretching all the way back to Caedmon Weasley. The raw magic rushed through him, sluicing through his veins like the warmth of a summer day, steadying and grounding him and tying him firmly and irrevocably to the current head of the Weasley family. The wild flood of magic subsided, and he shook his head to see his guest looking similarly affected.

"Arthur," Lucius said, and this time he honestly meant the name. "I had no idea –"

"Your magic is so –"

"It's like summer."

"I always thought Dark Magic was colder," Arthur said dazedly. "But that's – it was calm, and heavy, and almost _soft_."

"That's how it used to be," Lucius said quietly. He smiled slightly. "I suppose a signature wasn't all that was needed, after all."

"I'd only meant to say goodbye," Arthur said, somewhat plaintively.

They both laughed quietly, a bit awkwardly on Arthur's part, and dropped each other's hand. "Until tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," Arthur confirmed. He took a generous handful of Floo powder from the jar on the mantel and tossed it into the flames. "The Burrow!" he shouted, striding forward, and with a roar of green fire, he was gone.

Lucius sighed to himself and turned to go find Narcissa and Draco only to see them standing a polite distance away.

"Father, where did you go?" Draco asked with wide eyes. "Was that –" He lowered his voice. "Was that a Weasley?"

Lucius exchanged a look of ironic amusement with Narcissa over their son's head. "That was Arthur Weasley, yes, and I want you to put all of that poison your Grandfather Abraxas told you about their family right out of your head, as well as anything I may have said that sounded like I shared his views," he said firmly. "He and I were able to _end_ the feud today thanks to him, and we've renewed our old alliance."

"Yes, Father," Draco said obediently, clearly biting back the dozens of questions he was bursting to ask.

Narcissa crossed the space separating them to place her dainty hands in his and give them a gentle squeeze. "You're safe," she murmured, and two months of tension drained from her shoulders as she leaned her head against his chest. "Thank all the stars."

"I am," he said, wrapping one arm around her to hold her close. He swallowed hard around a sudden lump that formed in his throat. "The price was unbearably high."

Narcissa tipped her head back to search his face, and gasped softly when she realized what he meant. "Not Aurélie's daughter!" she protested, her big blue eyes wide with distress.

"Something happened to Cousin Luna?" Draco demanded. He'd never met her, but he'd seen the baby photos from the birth announcement, and heard plenty of stories about what his aunt Aurélie had been like as a child, and Lucius knew he felt quite fond of his younger Malfoy cousin. "What happened? Was she hurt? Is that why you left all of a sudden?"

Lucius beckoned Draco over, and when he was close enough, he extended his free arm to his son to clasp his shoulder. "Draco, I need you to be strong," he said seriously. "Can you be strong? Can you be strong for Luna?"

Draco nodded solemnly.

"Yes. Something happened to Luna. Something _terrible_ –"

To his shame, his voice broke, and he hid his face in Narcissa's long blonde hair, taking deep, shuddery breaths until the horror and heartbreak weren't so immediate. A second, smaller pair of arms went around his waist, and he spared a prayer of thanksgiving that he hadn't been the family head for so long that the darkness had driven his own son from him. He hugged his family to him and vowed that nothing would tear them asunder.

"It's alright if you can't, my darling," Narcissa whispered in his ear, just as she had every time he'd come home dry-eyed and haunted from a night of committing atrocities in the Dark Lord's name. "I promise, I will have tears enough for the both of us."

Something hard and heavy cracked open in his chest at her words. "'I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless,'" he breathed into her hair, and called himself blessed to have a witch as true and faithful and fierce as Narcissa in his life.

"I shall love her as my own," she promised.

He knew she would. She'd never once let him down before.

* * *

_Poems quoted: "If I can stop one heart from breaking" by Emily Dickinson, and "Grief" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning_


End file.
